The Highway of Lost Souls
by dnachemlia
Summary: Written as a NFA Hangman prize for IMSLES. While on vacation, Gibbs makes a journey he'll never forget.


Title: The Highway of Lost Souls

Genre: Supernatural/Horror

Rating: T

Warnings: Weirdness (as usual), minor language and some disturbing imagery

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yadda yadda

This was written as a NFA Hangman prize for **IMSLES** who requested Gibbs and a supernatural force.

Set sometime after season 5 (since Vance is in it)

Summary: While on vacation, Gibbs makes a journey he'll never forget.

* * *

Gibbs barely managed to guide his truck to the edge of the road before it sputtered and died completely. Unable to believe his luck, or lack thereof, Gibbs uttered several of the more colorful phrases he had learned as a marine before he popped the hood release, grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment, opened the door and climbed out of the truck. He made his way to the front of the vehicle and lifted to hood to peer underneath, still grumbling under his breath. _So much for a nice relaxing vacation_, he thought as he examined the engine.

He was only here in the first place because of their most recent case. The team had investigated a series of particularly gruesome murders, all of female petty officers near Norfolk. Three women, all similar in appearance, had prompted the team to suspect it was the work of a serial killer. The crimes had culminated with the brutal slaying of a young NCIS agent who worked out of the local office and had been assisting the team, and who had, unfortunately, fit the 'type' of the other victims. The perpetrator had finally been caught, but not before he had taunted them over the young agent's death. The case had hit them all hard but it had been especially difficult for Gibbs. He had been the one to recruit the woman's help and the guilt weighed heavily on his mind as they closed the case. Director Vance had noted the problem and, after the agent's funeral, had ordered the entire MCRT team to take four days off to "clear their heads" (said with a significant look at the team leader).

Gibbs had decided to get out of town for the duration of the break from work, so he arranged to stay at one of his old unit member's vacation cabin. Its isolation appealed to Gibbs, and the nearby lake offered the opportunity to do a little fishing, something which _might_ keep his mind off how bad things had been. Maybe.

Of course, the opportunity to actually reach his destination seemed to be slipping away. He carefully inspected every visible part of the engine and could find nothing wrong. With a sigh, he reached for his cell phone and opened it, only to find no signal available. He turned away from the truck and scanned the area, hoping to find a house nearby where he could ask to make a local call and get a tow truck out here, but the area was surprisingly desolate. As he turned back towards his vehicle, he noticed, about 50 yards further down the road, a rather disheveled-looking young man walking along the opposite shoulder towards him.

_Must be a local. Maybe he can tell me where to find the closet phone._ He was about to call out to the man when he heard the sound of an approaching engine. He stepped to the edge of the blacktop, ready to hail the vehicle when he noticed that the young man had stopped and was looking around as well. Suddenly, the headlights of the car pierced the darkness. The young man turned and started to run away from the lights, a look of panic on his face, obvious even from a distance. Before Gibbs could even react, the car appeared, accelerated, and hit the running man with a sickening crunch, hurling him up and over the car as it passed. Gibbs stood in shock as the body of the man disappeared from view and he heard the wet thump as it apparently connected with the ground. The car, a black 1968 Chevelle, never even slowed as it passed the stunned agent. After a brief moment, he managed to pull himself from his reverie and turned towards the departing vehicle, trying to catch the license plate of the homicidal driver.

The car was nowhere to be seen.

Gibbs stared, unable to believe what he had just witnessed.

_How…?_

Finally he managed to move and he ran to the other side of the road, searching desperately for the body of the young man he had just seen brutally killed. His flashlight illuminated the landscape, but he saw nothing the resembled the broken, mangled corpse he expected to see. There was no trace of the young man.

_What in the hell…?_

The roving beam of the flashlight caught something white and Gibbs paused, directing the light back to it. He saw a simple wooden cross, painted white and inscribed with something. He stepped closer and saw that it was a name, followed by a date:

_SCOTT HAINES. MARCH 31__ST__, 1996._

Gibbs had seen something like this before: it was a highway memorial marker, used to mark the scene of a fatal accident. They had become commonplace along the roads in the D.C. area, and he, like so many others, had grown accustomed to their presence. This was the first time he had actually been close enough to read one of them, though. It was also the first time one had filled him with a feeling of dread.

He widened his search for the body but he still found nothing. Wondering if he had in fact imagined the whole thing, evidence of his apparent excessive fatigue, he made his way back to the side of the highway. He arrived just in time to hear the approach of another vehicle. He tensed, wondering if there would be a repeat of the scene he had witnessed (or thought he had witnessed) earlier, this time with himself as the unfortunate victim, but this car started to slow down. As it approached he saw that it was actually not a car, but an old pickup truck, circa 1950. The truck pulled to a stop next to him and a male voice called out from the driver's seat.

"Need some help?"

Gibbs took a few steps towards the truck and saw that the driver was an older man, likely in his mid to late 60's. His white hair was cropped short in a military-style haircut, and his tanned, leathery skin spoke of a life spent outdoors. Gibbs debated what to tell this no-nonsense looking gentleman, and decided to go with the safest story. He could deal with the weirdness later.

"Yeah. My truck died on me. I was looking for better cell reception."

The older man chuckled. "You won't find that anywhere around here, trust me. Let's take a look and see if we can't get your truck started." He backed his truck up and then pulled across the road so it was facing Gibbs' truck. He popped the hood and stepped out. "Got jumper cables?"

"Yeah." Gibbs crossed the road and opened his tool box in the bed of the truck to retrieve the cables. The older man hooked them up, started his truck, and motioned for Gibbs to do the same. Nothing happened.

"Looks like it might be the alternator…guess you'll have to get a tow out here tomorrow morning. Closest shop is in Blue Rock, about 15 miles from here. There's a hotel where you could stay the night and get your truck taken care of in the morning. C'mon, I'll give you a lift."

"Thanks." Gibbs grabbed his bag and locked the truck as the older man unhooked the cables. After everything was secure, Gibbs climbed in the passenger seat and the older man turned the truck towards town. After a few moments of silence, he turned his attention to Gibbs.

"Got a name, stranger?"

"Gibbs. Jethro Gibbs."

"MacGillicuddy. Ebenezer MacGillicuddy." He noticed the surprise in Gibbs' expression and chuckled. "Yeah, I know. Mom and Pop must have hated me. My friends call me Mac." He offered his hand and Gibbs shook it.

"Most people call me Gibbs."

Mac regarded Gibbs for a moment. "Marine?"

"Yep. You, too?"

"You know it. Takes one to know one, eh Gibbs?"

"Pretty much. Where'd you serve?"

"Korea. You?"

Gibbs barely managed to hide his surprise. He'd have to increase his estimate of the man's age considerably. "Kuwait, mostly."

"Ah. Glad I was way too old to serve by the time that one rolled around. Can't stand the desert. So what do you do now?"

"NCIS. Used to be NIS."

"You're a Navy cop? How'd ya go from the Corps to that?"

"Long story."

"Yeah, I'll bet. So what brings you out here?"

"Vacation. I was heading to a buddy's cabin, about 75 miles from here."

"Ah. And you picked this road because it looked like the fastest route. Figured you weren't a local."

"Why is that?"

"Most locals wouldn't be on this road at night."

Gibbs felt a twinge in his gut. "Why not?"

Mac chuckled, but this time there was no humor in it. "Too many bad things have happened. Like that." He pointed to a cluster of white crosses on the side of the road as the truck passed them. "Whole family killed when their car blew a tire and crashed. Damn shame, two of the kids were just babies." Gibbs glanced in the side mirror to look back at the site and froze. He saw, just for a brief moment, several figures standing by the side of the road, watching. He blinked and they were gone.

_I really_ must _be tired…_

He shook his head and returned his attention to Mac's narrative.

"The road has been used for a long time, even before it was paved. Lots of people died along this route, even some of the people who helped put down the asphalt. One guy fell into the tank of hot pitch. Nasty damn way to go."

"Yeah, yeah, I can imagine." He gazed out into the darkness at the passing landscape. He could almost see the accident, hear the agonized scream of the workman as the flesh was burned from his body. He shook his head again to clear the image from his mind.

_Leave the imagination stuff to McGee. At least he could write it down and put it to good use._

He focused on Mac's words again. "Some people would even go as far to say that the road is cursed. They say once someone dies here, they can never leave. They call it '_The Highway of Lost Souls'_."

Gibbs turned to look at the older man. "So then why are you out here?"

"Do I look like the kind of guy that would believe that crap?" Mac asked with a grin, which soon faded as he returned his attention to the road. "Really, I'm just looking out for those who need help. Someone has to."

"Yeah, I can understand that."

Several minutes of silence passed. Gibbs had closed his eyes, trying to shut out the images he kept seeing as they passed. He just wished he could forger it all. This road, the accident he thought he had seen…the image of Agent Collins' body, torn apart by the vile man they had recently put behind bars.

"Something on your mind, Gibbs?"

He opened his eyes and stared at Mac. "Why do you ask?"

"I've seen that look before. It's never a good sign. You're feeling guilty about something, ain't ya?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I guess I am."

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking?"

"My last case…we had someone helping us, a young agent from the local office: Kathleen Collins. She…well, she reminded me a bit of another agent I recruited from that same office. I guess I…saw her potential. I knew she could go on to be a good agent, even if she was still…pretty inexperienced. So I got her involved in the case. It got her killed…_I _got her killed…just like..." He couldn't bring himself to say the name. It still bothered him, even after all this time.

"How?"

"We…we were after a serial killer. She was helping us get information on the victims. She was their age, similar interests, his 'type'. I thought it would help us figure out how he came into contact with his victims. What it did was bring her to his attention, and he killed her. To spite us, I think. We caught him pretty soon after."

"What was her job? I mean, before you came along?"

"She was an NCIS agent. Not a field agent, though."

"But she was trained to investigate crime?"

"Yeah…"

"Sounds like she was doing her job, then. It's basically law enforcement, right? Law enforcement's a dangerous job. I'm sure she knew that."

"Yeah…yeah, she did."

"So how was it your fault? This guy, could he have seen her anywhere, really, decided he wanted her, and if you hadn't been around, she could have been just one more in a string of murders. These guys don't stop until they're caught, right?"

"No, no they don't."

"So you, and that agent, you stopped the guy. In the long run, how many did you save?"

Gibbs managed a weak smile. As much as he hated to admit it, Mac had a point. Gibbs knew what the job entailed. He knew the risks, and while he always would prefer to take those risks on himself, he recognized the fact that it wasn't always possible. He was selfish in allowing himself to succumb to the guilt and letting it interfere with the job. He would still feel the sorrow over Collins' death, but he did know, as she had, that it was part of the job, a job he needed to be ready to do, no matter what. And now, he could admit to himself, that it was because Collins had reminded him of not one, but _two_ other agents, one of which he had also lost.

Finally, feeling more at ease than he had for days, he turned to Mac.

"Thanks."

"Hey, no problem. Sometimes even us old soldiers need a good talking to, am I right?"

"Yeah…"

Soon the lights of Blue Rock became visible and Gibbs managed a smile as they reached the hotel. Mac pulled off the road in front and turned to Gibbs.

"Here ya go. It's a good place to get a good night's sleep. Just tell the owner that Mac sent ya, and she'll give you a good deal. The mechanic is just a block west of here, and he should be in by 0700."

"Thanks." Gibbs offered his hand and Mac shook it. "What do I owe you for the ride?"

"Nothing. I'm always happy to help out a fellow marine. _Semper fi_," he said with a grin.

Gibbs returned the smile. "_Semper fi_." He climbed out of the truck, shut the door, and saluted the older man, who returned the gesture and drove off.

When Gibbs opened the door to the hotel lobby, an elderly woman, seated at the front desk, glanced up at him and smiled.

"May I help you?"

"I just need a single room for the night."

"No problem, young man." She stood and pulled out the paperwork. "Just passing through?"

"Sort of. My truck died out on Highway 30 and I caught a ride in with a local. Mac said to mention he sent me."

A strange look crossed the woman's face before she quickly recovered. "Of course. Good ol' Mac." She handed him the paperwork. He filled it out, paid for the room, and accepted the key. "Room 112, just two doors down from the end. Call if you need anything."

"Will do. Thank you."

He made his way to his room and got ready for bed. As he got into bed, he remembered that he still had some things to worry about, but before he could wrap his mind around them, he was already fast asleep.

The next morning, after breakfast and some of the best damn coffee he had ever tasted, he walked to the garage one block away. The middle aged man behind the counter looked up as he entered. He seemed faintly familiar to Gibbs.

"Help ya?"

"Yeah. My truck died out on Highway 30, about 15 miles east of here. I was hoping you could tow it back and figure out what's wrong."

A startled expression appeared on the man's face. "Highway 30? That's a bad place to break down."

"Yeah, so I've heard. Can you help me or not?"

"Yeah…yeah, I can help. Come on." He flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and locked he door before leading Gibbs to a rather beat-up looking tow truck. He opened the passenger door and walked around to the driver's side. Silently, he climbed into the passenger seat just as Gibbs had gotten himself buckled in, started the truck and guided it towards the highway.

The road really didn't look much more inviting during the daytime. The area along the road was dotted with white crosses, some single and some in groups of two or three, reminders of the danger that was very real along the twisting stretch of highway.

The trip, however, was quite different from the previous night. The mechanic, whose name had not been offered, remained silent for the entire trip. Finally they reached Gibbs' truck, and the mechanic pulled the tow truck up in front of it, as Mac had done the night before.

"Pop the hood and try to start 'er up," the man said as he climbed out of the truck. Gibbs made his way over to his own truck, unlocked the door and pulled the hood release before inserting his key in the ignition. To his great surprise, the engine turned over on the first try and the truck roared to life. He got out and walked over to the mechanic, expecting annoyance at the wasted trip, but the man simply looked relieved.

"That happens," he said, obviously unhappy, but not, as Gibbs had expected, with him. "Cars just sometimes die out here. You're lucky you found a lift back to town." He closed the hood of Gibbs' truck and looked around again. "You won't catch me out here at night."

"And why is that?"

"My brother died out here. Just…over there, actually." He pointed to the place where Gibbs' had seen the cross last light. "They said it was a hit and run. Probably a drunk."

"Sorry to hear that."

"I told Scottie he should have stayed home, but he didn't listen…anyway, I hope you get wherever you're going, mister, and on the way back? Do yourself a favor: stay off this road. Take Highway 21, it's longer, but you'll at least get where you're going."

"Thanks for the tip. What do I owe you?"

"Nothin'."

Gibbs took out his wallet and removed a couple of bills. "This do?"

The man took the money without checking the amount and muttered a "thanks". He quickly climbed in his truck and, with a slight screech of tires, turned the truck around and drove off.

Gibbs stared after him for a moment before returning to his own truck. It was definitely time for a vacation…

* * *

_*three days later*_

The elevator doors opened and Gibbs emerged just in time to hear some of the details of Tony's time off.

"I can't believe I never went there before, Ziva. The beaches were awesome. And the _girls_? Damn, I _never_ knew what I was missing."

"You'll be missing more than that if you don't get back to work, DiNozzo. Vacation's over."

"Sorry, Boss." Tony scuttled back to his desk and Gibbs barely managed to hide a smirk. Things were back to normal.

"Good morning, Gibbs," said Ziva. "How was your vacation? I must say you are looking well rested."

"Fine, Ziva. McGee?"

"Yes, Boss?" replied McGee as he peeked over his monitor at Gibbs.

"I need you to look up an old case for me. It's not one of ours."

"Uh, OK. Who was the victim?"

"Scott Haines. Hit and run accident. March 31, 1996."

McGee sent him a puzzled look before his fingers started to fly over his keyboard. "Here we go: Scott Haines, found near the 30 mile marker on Highway 30, closest town was Blue Rock, West Virginia. Ruled as vehicular homicide, hit and run…huh."

"What?"

"Initial report that it may have been a drunk, but later believed to have been deliberate. No sign that the vehicle that hit him ever slowed down. Imprints of the headlight on the victim, and the pattern indicated it was from a late 1960's model Chevelle. No vehicle matching the evidence was ever found."

Gibbs stepped around to look at McGee's monitor and froze. The case file included a picture of the victim. It was the same man that he had thought he had seen walking along that highway. The one he had seen _hit_, by a 1968 Chevelle...

"Boss?" asked McGee, noticing his silence. "Is something wrong?"

"No…" He returned to his desk and paused to think before continuing. "McGee, I need you to look up someone else for me: A retired marine who served in Korea. Ebenezer MacGillicuddy."

"_MacGillicuddy_? Seriously?" exclaimed Tony, unable to hide his amusement. One look from Gibbs silenced him. McGee ignored him and continued to type.

"Here we go: Master Sergeant Ebenezer MacGillicuddy. Served two tours in Korea. Retired from the Corps and worked as a civilian contractor, retired from that job thirty years later."

"I need an address, McGee."

"Uh, Boss?"

"What?"

"Current location is Lot 24 C, Blue Rock Methodist Cemetery. He died in 1995."

Gibbs stared at his agent, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Finally he managed to ask: "How?"

"Single car accident, some evidence that he was run off the road…that's weird, also on Highway 30 near Blue Rock. Something we need to know, Boss?"

Before Gibbs could respond his desk phone rang. "Yeah, Gibbs…got it." He hung up the phone and turned to his rather bewildered team. "Gear up, dead Marine at Little Creek."

"Boss?"

"What part of that was unclear to you, DiNozzo?"

"Nothing."

Gibbs watched his team scramble to grab their bags before heading to the elevator. He paused, thinking of what he had seen, heard, and _learned_ on that fateful night. He had been shown and offered assistance. Perhaps now he could help in return…

Finally, he grinned and joined his team, accepting the truth in the older man's final words.

"_Semper Fi."_

THE END


End file.
